


What Comes of Being a High-Strung Leaguer

by FanficCornerWriter19



Series: His Reason For Pride [8]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: Crazy unedited fluff, Gen, literally I mean fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficCornerWriter19/pseuds/FanficCornerWriter19
Summary: On yet another mission, Percy has elected to go alone for now, leaving Darcy in command until he's back in the Calais Headquarters. Darcy has never been in command before, and so he's understandably nervous, but Andrew talks to him and lulls that stress. It helps, of course, that Tony 'accidentally' tosses his pillow in a sleeping Darcy's face to relieve the tension...Or: How seven Leaguers, including grim-faced Fitzwilliam Darcy, got into a pillow-fight.





	What Comes of Being a High-Strung Leaguer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I literally wrote in the middle of the night, so I hope you'll forgive me if it's terrible. The laughter isn't much, it's a slight shadow of a fic I wanted to write.

Percy Algernon Alois Blakeney, when I see you again I will throttle you.

I huff in annoyance as I trudge back to the refurbished ramshackle cottage hidden in the woods near Calais that Percy dares to call headquarters – Calais Headquarters, precisely. I am dressed as a fisherman, and indeed that has been my profession for most of the day: catching fish enough to feed seven men is no easy task when there is only one rod and the other six have other things to do.

“Ah, here’s our grim-faced fisher friend!” Andrew shouts merrily as I heave the bucket of slippery-scaled fish into the hut. “Nice catches, by the way!” He is perched in _a deuced tree!_

I allow the ghost of a smile to touch my mouth before Tony, Wyndham, Philip (Glynde), William (Galveston), and Theodore (Wallescourt) all pounce on my fish and drag it towards our fire, which is snapping merrily in the hearth.

“Great work, Darce!” Teddy, as we call the diminutive man only a bit smaller than Tony (the smallest of the Commanding Four) says as I walk in.

“Shut your mouth!” I hiss. “I am not Darcy to you!” I look around.

“Oh, smile, old man,” Teddy persists. “We are not being pursued, and we can finally let up!”

“The SP may not be here, but the rest of the CF are,” I retort, but Andrew interrupts me, “We gave them leave, Darcy; it’s two to one and you are bound to lose.”

I sigh and flop down on my assigned bundle of cotton and wool. “Forgive me, Andrew. I am just teetering on the edge of madness, as usually it is you or Tony that Percy leaves in command, not I, and I know not what to do with this.” I dig the heels of my hands in my eyes.

It is the third day of command, and the stress is getting to my nerves and dancing on them like violin strings. “William, please patrol. Phillip, fire duty. The rest, talk and mingle as appropriate.”

I am not doing well.

Andrew slides down from his lofty perch in the tree and pats my shoulder. “Look, old SP would not have given you command if he knew you could not handle it. Darcy, you give hundreds of demmed orders every day in your normal, everyday life and you do not even realize! Stop hashing over every little command you speak and let Fitzwilliam Darcy, gentleman, do the rest.”

I crack a smile. “Thanks, Andy.” The League’s affectionate nickname for its second-in-command comes in handy when I wish to convey just how lightened I feel by his words.

His lopsided grin comes back as a result. “Come on, then. Phillip hates to cook fish – I think he must have forgotten to be there when Percy tried to make pudding, yeah?”

I laugh at last. “Aye. Phillip,” I call, and Andrew and I skip over a bit – the Headquarters really are rather small – and help Glynde with the fish, for he really is rather hopeless at it. Tony and the others roughhouse a bit like boys still concerned with their next lark, and I laugh more.

When I order Teddy to keep watch, with William, myself, Phillip, Tony, and Andrew to follow, I quickly realize that Andrew was right. I stopped worrying over how people would take my every order, and simply gave them, and my upbringing as a man meant to give orders took over. I smile, feeling much better, though I still miss having Percy’s indomitable presence around. I am around him so often these days that he seems to have become part of my life.

* * *

I am woken by a pillow flying in my face.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” It is Tony. “I apologize, Darcy!”

I sleepily fling the pillow in the direction I heard Tony’s voice, but instead I hear a “Whose deuced pillow is this?” from Andrew.

“Tony’s, but I threw it,” I admit sheepishly. “Go back to sleep, and my apologies, Andrew.”

“Oh no, lad,” he says, sitting up with a wicked grin. “You are not escaping so easily!” He flings Tony’s pillow at me, and I stand up, wearing only the leather jerkin and hose I put on, to catch it. It smacks me full in the face and I tumble backwards.

I look up at Tony. “I demand my pillow back, good sir,” he tells me seriously, “or I shall have to finish my friend Andrew’s work and pummel you into your pallet.”

“Bring it, Dewhurst!” I cry merrily, casting away my blankets near the dead fire, and aiming for his chest and face.

My cry rouses Phillip, who wakes with a pillow to his face and the three left of the Commanding Four smacking one another with pillows. He in turn wakes Galveston, who wakes Teddy, and soon all of us are awake.

“What the devil is going o –” Teddy gets a mouthful of Andrew’s pillow for his trouble as I launch myself at Andrew, laughing like a boy.

Soon the members of the League are all tumbling about like children, laughing and hooting and pummelling each other with pillows. Feathers fly everywhere, and it is so wonderfully warm on a cold French night to be kicking your feet in feather-fluff. Laughter reigns as the Leaguers tussle about, not really hurting each other…

BANG!

The wooden wham reminds me of who I am and what I am supposed to be doing. However, just before he jumps in to join our pillow-fight, Percy shouts, laughingly, “Fitzwilliam James Darcy, if I see you again I will throttle you.”


End file.
